


All Has Value

by madame_faust



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dwarf & Hobbit Cultural Differences, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dís Joins the Quest, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22898491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_faust/pseuds/madame_faust
Summary: "Dwarves'll put a price on everything," is the common wisdom. Ordinary things like goods and services, but also those ephemeral things like love and beauty and music. At least, that's what Bilbo's been told and his interactions with the Company of Thorin Oakenshield has only confirmed this prejudice. Until one night of busking on the roadways causes him to shift his perspective.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Thorin's Company
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	All Has Value

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be a two-part story - also Dís is here because she can't not be ;-)

It was always money with them: whether they had enough, who had hold of it, constantly lamenting a lack - it was all quite in keeping with the nature of his strange companions, Bilbo supposed. After all, they were traversing the countryside to burgle a dragon for a heap of treasure. But he found all the round and round conversation, weighing their purses, engaging in loud lamentations or hushed whispers over their dwindling funds beyond tedious. If he could stuff his ears with wax he would and have done with the whole blessed business; his own thoughts were pleasanter company by far than the whinging and moaning of his fellow-travelers. 

The red-haired one, with the sly eyes who Bilbo did not much trust (granted, he didn't trust _any_ of them, but that one seemed especially shifty) actually had the gall to saunter up the Gandalf one fine morning, after he and his comrades and been unsuccessful in a quest for game on a lovely stretch of prairie and asked whether or not Gandalf could "magic up" some gold coins for them.

"NORI!" the silver-haired one exclaimed with a bug-eyed, horrified expression upon his face, latching on to Nori's elbow and dragging him bodily away from the wizard. "What are you saying? Don't mind him, Mister Gandalf, he doesn't know what he's about. Half out of his mind with hunger."

Bilbo swallowed back a rude, but perfectly natural chortle. If anyone could gauge hunger it was a Hobbit, thanks awfully, and they were well stocked up with traveling bread and hard cheese and dried jerky; what more could they want?

"Doesn't hurt to ask, does it?" Nori replied, trying unsuccessfully to remove his arm from Dori's grip. "Leastaways we might buy our meat and mead in yon village there."

There was indeed a village a mile away, and quite a pretty one it looked from this distance; homely little cottages with thatched roofs and every chimney puffing out white plumes of smoke which implied suppers bubbling away and full bellies beyond. It might almost be Hobbiton from this distance, though Bilbo knew full well it was not; once they entered, he'd find the homes comically oversized, as befit the habitation of Men, but was dashedly disconcerting.

"He is a _sorcerer_ ," Dori hissed, drawing his mouth up to his brother's ear. "A fine sight you'd be, enjoying your meat and mead after you've been turned into a _beetle_ or some other wretched thing in exchange."

 _Exchange_ , Bilbo thought sourly. There they were, going on about _money_ again. Since they had paused in their travels, Bilbo had stretched out on a cozy patch of grass and was basking in the sunshine with a long blade between his teeth, like the stem of his pipe. This was a far greater restorative to the spirit, he thought, than scampering about the countryside in search of game who had already left this place for greener pastures. Or trying to cajole wizards into conjuring coins from behind their ears like a street magician. 

For his part, Gandalf seemed affronted, but before he could open his mouth to either disparage the young rascal or hex him and turn him into a crawling little thing (not out of a sense of exchange mind, but punishment for his cheek), Thorin interrupted the whole proceeding with a glare darker than even his usual dour expression.

"We'll not go _begging_ ," he said, his voice so hard and firm that Nori squirmed in his brother's grasp, seemingly from the discomfort of being on the receiving end of Thorin's disappointment than he was by the vice-hard grip on his elbow. "Not from wizards nor any other living thing."

Cowed only slightly, Nori still had spirit enough to frown and remark, "We might've had a bit extra for the marketplace if your fellow there was as good with figures as he makes out.

Nearby, Glóin, who had been part of the failed hunting party, let out a 'harrumph' loud enough that the townfolk from the Mannish village must have stopped their labors and though there was an earthquake underfoot. 

"Now you mark me, laddie!" he said, face going as red as his beard. "We'd have had more than enough if certain Eastern lords weren't so battle-shy. Or was I meant to kit out an army on what funds I'd been allotted? I spent most of it on the ponies!"

"Does that mean we're going to eat the ponies?" one of the younger dwarves, Ori, remarked worriedly to the golden-haired prince, Fíli (weeks on the road and Bilbo was only just starting to get a handle on the dwarves' names and just who was related to whom, though he'd gathered from the first that they nearly all seemed to be cousins, of a sort). 

"No one's eating the ponies!" Those were the sensible and rational tones of Dís, the princess, who Bilbo still had a terrible time telling apart from Thorin, the king. The two were nearly of a height, had almost identical faces, save for the fact that he had a mustache and she did not and she smiled a bit more readily than he did - which was to say, she smiled occasionally and Thorin did not at all.

"No one's eating the ponies, _yet_ ," she amended, a bit of a smile twisting her mouth. She stood with her arms akimbo and looked Glóin over with much the same expression as Thorin had fixed on Nori. "And aye, aye, curse our Eastern cousins, and _ach_ , don't we long for the days of Dimrill Dale and underground roads paved with gold and stocked with taverns all across the continent. There. I've had the entire argument out for us, and more quickly too than if I'd let you all go on."

The black-haired one with the ridiculous hat whistled through his teeth and applauded her. "You know 'em better than they know theirselves, lassie! I half thought you'd bust out in a ballad. _'Oh, now, tell me, stout young dwarrow, tell me why you hurry so?'_ "

She grinned, a true smile and joined Bofur in, "' _Hush now himrûn, hush and listen, and his cheeks were all a-glow_ -"

"That might do."

This impromptu serenade was cut short by a calm utterance from Balin, easily Bilbo's favorite of the Company for he was the most like a hobbit - or at least, the most familiar to a hobbit. His manner was quiet and polite, he took the time to explain the wild utterances of his comrades when the others seemed to prefer to ignore or laugh at Bilbo for his supposed ignorance and, most importantly, he liked to read actual books. Bilbo was not a betting fellow, but he'd lay down his eyeteeth that none of the others had ever so much as read a page top to bottom other than to sign a contract, and never for pleasure or to better themselves. He was certain that Balin was about to lay down some sensible advice rather than encourage backbiting about cousins and roads and starting silly singalongs. 

"Those of us who can play still retain our instruments," Balin suggested. "As young Nori pointed out, there is a village not far from here. We might pass the hat and see what comes of it."

Evidently, Bilbo did not know Balin as well as he thought he did. 

"Now, I myself am...not musically proficient," Balin acknowledged with a rueful shake of his head. 

"Tone-deaf's more like it," Dwalin (and you could have just about knocked Bilbo over with a stick when he discovered that _they_ were brothers) interjected rudely.

"Be that as it may," Balin went on, as though he'd not heard him. "I believe there is enough merit in the talent assembled to tide us over until the forests yield happier results for our hunting party. At your pleasure. Of course."

This last he addressed to Thorin. And that was _another_ thing, Bilbo was utterly perplexed by the manner of his traveling companions in response to their king. Why, he'd seen Dwalin seize him suddenly round the middle and dash the fellow into a brook when they'd stopped to wash the grime of the road off themselves, had seen the princes tackle him and wrestle him to the ground like pups playing together in a barnyard, had overheard Dori complaining about how he dressed and styled his hair, listened to Nori bicker with him for a solid ten minutes about whether he would or would not forage for kindling when they bedded down to make camp, and Bofur seemed to delight in teasing him in a way that seemed to indicate that they bore their king no more particular respect than any one of their other brothers in arms. 

And yet now, when the question was raised about whether to alter course and play the part of street musicians for a bit of extra money, they all stood still and quiet, to a one, every pair of eyes fixed upon their king as though they couldn't make a move without him. It was frankly bizarre and enough to give a poor fellow whiplash; for his part, Bilbo hardly knew how to speak to Thorin, either with familiarity or awe and so, he simply did not speak to him. Took steps to avoid him, actually, since he had the distinct sense that Thorin disliked him. Actually, he assumed that Thorin thoroughly disliked the lot of them, but considering how easily he took to being manhandled, teased, and twitted by his traveling companions, perhaps he didn't have the measure of him yet. 

As he did not have the measure of him, Bilbo could not predict what course he would take here; it seemed, however, that Thorin was undecided. His dark blue eyes flickered from his companions, to the town below, to the horizon, a line which the sun was beginning to dip ominously close to. That seemed to make up his mind.

"We're off," he said. "Balin and Ori and...Glóin'll stay behind to mind the horses."

"Why me stay behind?" Glóin asked, affronted. "And not...say, Óin?"

"Ah, come off it Glóin," Dís clapped him on the back goodnaturedly, "for you're as unmusical as Balin and no denying it!"

"Óin's _deaf_!" Glóin exploded.

"Eh?" Óin asked, making a bit of a show of putting in his ear trumpet and laying the mouth of the horn right against Glóin's face.

"I reckoned you'd be pleased," Thorin said, as he made to mount his own horse and lead the way down to the village. "You can keep a close eye on your investments."

The Company exploded into laughter as though Thorin had told a splendid joke. Bilbo looked to Gandalf, but he too was smiling as though privy to the matter. And then he was given no more time to contemplate it, for Kíli, the youngest prince was by his side, kicking him as though to rouse him and then offering a hand to help him to his feet.

"Come along, Mister Bilbo!" he said with a smile. "D'you play? I've a fiddle you can borrow if you'd like - eh! If you're a quick learner, you being a scholar and all, I can teach you to play on the roadway."

Bilbo demurred; he had enough trouble keeping his seat upon his pony without an overeager young dwarf prattling on in his ear. As they rode into the darkening night, Bilbo found he could not be optimistic about his chances. Apart from the... _demonstration_ in his kitchen before they set out, the dwarves had sung only bawdy ditties that set his own face aflame with embarrassment and repetitive work songs that played over and over in his head as he tried to sleep. Hardly anything worth doling out funds enough to improve their current fortunes. Yes, alright, they had sung one rather haunting tune, but thus far it seemed to be the only truly moving piece in their repertoire. Yet they all seemed confident in their abilities and even wise old Balin was convinced this was the best course of action. 

Shaking his head and squinting into the darkness, Bilbo reflected (not for the first time and certainly not for the last) that he would never in a thousand lifetimes, understand the ways of dwarves. 


End file.
